


Children Shouldn't Be Seen Or Heard

by eloquated



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Banned Together Bingo 2020, Canon-Typical Behavior, Gen, Gestapo, Mischievous Children, Resistance, World War II, questionable parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24184123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquated/pseuds/eloquated
Summary: The operation at Stalag 13 is a well-oiled machine... But what happens when you introduce a few children to the mix?Chaos.
Comments: 34
Kudos: 30
Collections: Banned Banned Together Bingo 2020, Banned Together Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first time dipping my literary toes into this fandom, but I've loved the show since I was a child. I'm so excited to be writing here, and I'll try my best to do justice to their voices!
> 
> Written for the 2020 Banned Together Bingo : Naughty Children, Bad Parenting & Prisoners With Info.

"I don't like it, sir-- I don't like it at all! He's been gone too long."

For what felt like the dozenth time, Newkirk picked up the deck of cards in front of him and shuffled them briskly. The cards made a staccato smack against the palm of his hand, sounding as agitated and annoyed as the man holding them. Each card slapped against the table as he began laying out a game of solitaire, before thinking better of it, and gathering them back up again.

Who had the concentration for cards when his little buddy was out there in the middle of the German night, facing God only knew what kind of trouble? "There's a war on, you know! What if he's gotten picked up? I say one of us should-"

"No dice." Hogan interrupted his diatribe flatly, the corners of his mouth pulled thin as he looked towards the window. It was dark, with frost clotted at the corners where the draft always escaped in, and showed nothing but their own reflection. 

A group of men gathered together, sans one man.

"We've all done our share of dangerous assignments, and it's not going to do him any good if we go get ourselves caught. And that's exactly what's going to happen if we go out looking for him. I don't like it any more than you do, but there's a hundred reasons why he might be late getting back."

"Come, sit over here, Newkirk." From his usual end of the table, tucked near their ancient wood stove, LeBeau motioned to the stack of slightly bruised but edible potatoes he was briskly working through, "I need them all peeled and sliced for the Hachis Parmentier, and you're going to wear out our only deck of cards if you keep doing that."

Newkirk pulled a face, brow furrowed, but he reluctantly picked up a potato anyway. "What's this  _ hat-chis parmenter _ , anyway?"

It was LeBeau's turn to cringe, the deft motion of his paring knife stuttering over a soft part of the potato. "Hachis Parmentier!" He exclaimed, rolling the letters off his tongue, "Your French is terrible! But it's a base of ground meat-"

"What kind of meat?" 

Hogan smirked over his shoulder at then, and tossed another ragged, split bit of wood into the stove, "You're not supposed to ask, it ruins the surprise. It's probably squirrel."

"Colonel! Don't listen to him, Newkirk! It's beef. With vegetables, and mashed potato on top."

Newkirk's stomach growled in approval, loudly reminding him (and everyone in the near vicinity) that they'd all missed lunch that afternoon. "That's cottage pie!" He corrected, the blade of his knife skewering a potato to drag it closer. "Don't know why you want to give it a damn fancy name. My mum made it every week when I was a lad."

"Non! It's not, it's-!"

Whatever LeBeau had been about to say, it was tidily cut off by the rattle and clack of the bunk rising up from its frame. Almost immediately Kinch's head popped through, his face set in a mask of grim, resigned amusement, "Colonel, he's back, but it looks like he brought some trouble with him."

There was a scuffle down below, and Kinch climbed over the edge of the bed frame to make room for Carter at the top of the ladder. But instead of the familiar flap-eared cap, there was a cloud of dark hair and a pair of inquisitive green eyes, attached to a little girl that most definitely hadn't left with Carter that afternoon!

She couldn't be more than three or four, with frayed fingers on her tiny gloves where they clutched at the hem of Carter's jacket.

"Hey, boss..." Carter said as he followed the child up the ladder, one arm free to hold on, and the other securely wrapped around the ominously small, squirming bundle against his chest. His expression was pale and he gulped hard around the words, "Now before you start lining me up for the firing squad, just hear me out!"

"Andrew! You were supposed to be getting it touch with the bloody contact, not-"

"Well it's not my fault the Gestapo were crawling all over town, looking for radio operators! And I wasn't going to just leave them there!"

"Enough!" Hogan could feel the tension starting to coil in the back of his neck, tightening a little more with every second he looked at the children. "Alright, Carter, talk. Start at the beginning, and don't leave anything-"

"Well, it all started when I got into town. Like I said, Colonel, the whole place is swarming with Gestapo, it looks like a whole hive. Anyway-" With a huff, he sank down on the end of his own bunk, only half noticing when the little girl joined him, her skinny frame tucked up against his side. "They'd already picked up Chantecler, and I guess his wife's been passing messages on whenever she could."

"Chantecler's mon père!" Came the small, chirpy voice from Carter's side, "Because it reminds him of home." 

LeBeau's head spun around sharply, registering for the first time (along with Hogan and Newkirk, if their poleaxed expressions were anything to go by!) that the girl was real. Alive. And apparently listening to everything they said.

"You speak very pretty French, minette!" LeBeau said with forced cheer, his hands still frozen in place, hovering over the forgotten potatoes.

What did he know about children? What did any of them know?! Prisoner of war camps were no place for children, how were they expected to take care of these two? They weren't set up for kids! 

And while Hogan tried to wrap his head around the logistics of the whole mess, the little girl beamed up at LeBeau and wriggled a bit closer to the side of the bed.

"I'm Colette!" She announced, and held out her little hand the way she'd seen her father do, "And that's Henri. He's just a baby, and he's very hungry. He's probably going to-"

As if understanding his sister, or his cue, the wrapped bundle in Carter's lap began to whine.

Children... What on earth were they supposed to do with  _ children? _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an escape, but not by a hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fills the 'Naughty Children' square.

There was something shiny.

From her bed in the corner of the strange, dirt walled basement (and it had to be a basement, didn't it? It was under their house), Colette could see the blinking red right at the edge of all their equipment. It was bright and insistent, and reminded her an awful lot of the special toys her père had let her look at sometimes.

When she was being very good. And  _ only _ when she was being very good.

He'd even taught her how to tap out the strange string of beeps and boops that meant 'Help me'. She still wasn't entirely sure how anyone could read help out of all that noise, it certainly didn't look or sound anything like the letters her mama was teaching her! But her père had laughed and promised that he could. 

Did that mean that someone was trying to ask the men here for help?

With a glance around to make sure the men weren't watching-- they seemed to think she was asleep, which just went to show how much grown ups knew! And trying to stop Henri from crying, which even she knew meant he was hungry. Didn't these men know anything about babies at all?

Colette was just about to come up with a new plan (that was the basis of a good plan, her père had told her. Being able to think of new things when your first plan went wrong), because her mama had made her promise to take care of her brother, when she heard the man with the funny hat-- Carter! Herr Carter, suggest that he might need some milk.

Good! 

Nodding to herself, Colette slid out of bed as quietly as she could; not that she could hear much of anything over Henri's unhappy sounds. Poor little brother... But they were going to get him some food, and someone might need much more help on the other end of the beeping machine! 

Technically, Colette was fairly sure that she wasn't supposed to touch it. Her père had always been very clear on that. Never, not ever, without him around.  _ Non non non _ . But she had been good! Even Herr Carter had said that she was very brave the whole long, cold walk to the camp.

And if she could do that? She could help with this, too.

The chair behind the radio equipment was just a little too high, but with a bit of wriggling, Colette managed to jam one small foot into a shelf, and propel herself up onto the seat. Even then she had to stand up to reach the headset, which wobbled and fell off her head if she didn't hold it in place. 

\--- --- -.- .. -. --. / .--. .- .--. .- / -... . .- .-. --..-- / -.-. --- -- . / .. -. / .--. .- .--. .- / -... . .- .-. .-.-.-

She jumped at the tight pitched chirp of the radio, scrunching as she winced. But no! This was what you had to do when you were grown and trying to save the world. And she was very brave, so a bit of loud beeping wasn't going to scare her!

Colette squared her shoulders and leaned forward on her toes, the red flashing light at the corner of her eye when she grabbed the armature for the machine. 

_ Tap tap tap tap _ , she'd just let the people on the other end that they were here.

Funny thing, though. Their messages didn't sound anything like Help Me.

And over the edge of the radio setup, she could see the long, branching hallways that stretched out through their basement. It reminded her a little of the ant nest her mama had found once, all riddled with tunnels and chambers for the ants.

So if this was an ant hill, didn't that mean there had to be lots of interesting things in their holes?

In fact, going exploring sounded an awful lot more fun than sitting down here, waiting for the men to realize she wasn't asleep. Maybe she could even find out where the men in the black uniforms had taken Mama and Père! Then she could tell Henri, and they could all go back home. 

Technically, the men had told her to stay put. But really, they didn't know that she was four now, not a baby at all! She could find her parents, and they'd be very proud of her. So it wasn't really  _ very _ naughty at all. The grown ups would understand later!

The problem was that the tunnels mostly all looked the same when you were very small. On her explore she found some cold storage (and grabbed one of the golden brown rolls on the shelf, because she was getting rather hungry!), a tailor shop, a room full of what looked like German money, and another that had a bad, chemical smell, and a lot of very scary looking chemistry equipment.

Colette left that one well enough alone.

But at the end of the hall, there was a very mysterious thing.

A ladder.

It went right up to the ceiling, and in Colette's experience, ladders always went somewhere interesting if you climbed them long enough. And it was just wood on top, she could move that!

In fact! It looked an awful lot like the ladder she'd climbed down earlier. For a moment, Colette looked up at the ladder, and then back the way she'd come. The men would probably not be very happy if she left-- but they weren't her parents.

And if mama and père were in danger, they must need someone to help them!

Getting out of the tunnels wasn't nearly as difficult as she'd expected. And beyond the insulated underground warmth, the German winter was unexpectedly cold. The wind chapped her cheeks and made her fingers tingle, and in retrospect, Colette thought she probably should have brought her coat.

But it was back at the cot in the radio room, and if she went back for it she'd probably get caught!

No, forward. She just had to go forward.

The woods were not a very nice place to walk! They were cold, and confusing, and had a lot of old roots that kept trying to trip her. All in all, Colette was very glad when she made it to the front of the camp, lured in by the bright lights through the windows.

Shultz, on the other hand, wasn't so sanguine about the whole thing.

It was a miserable night to be walking his patrol, and with the Kommandant already in a terrible, yelling mood, he didn't dare to fall asleep. Visions of his wife, and her apple strudel-- and then just the strudel, because his stomach was grumbling-- Shultz didn't immediately notice the little girl padding along just outside the barbed wire.

And when he did?

"Halt! Stop!" He yelled, not entirely sure if it was to the child, or to Schneider and Braun in the guard tower, who shared the bad habit of shooting first and trying to ask questions after, "Open the gates!" 

Colette froze at the yelling, and the loud buzz of the gates, her heart beat ratcheting up in her ears. She was in trouble now, she knew it! Getting out was one thing, but getting caught by some German guards? Her mama was going to be so angry!

But instead of more yelling, the big man scooped her up from the ground, the sides of his greatcoat folded around her like a cocoon.

"What are you doing out here, Mäuschen?" Shultz blustered, carrying her into camp, "This is not a place for little ones!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which parenting comes neither easily, or naturally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fills the 'Bad Parenting' square.

The baby was obviously unhappy. 

This fact was made very clear by the way he was screaming at the top of his lungs,his tiny face turned truly alarming (and Carter and LeBeau were suitably alarmed and impressed!) shade of red. 

"Come on, LeBeau! You've got to have some idea what he wants!" Carter rambled, trying to bounce the sobbing baby in his arms. They were starting to ache already-- how did parents do this all the time?! It had been one thing to bring him back from town, he'd had that wheeled chair thing; and besides, he'd slept almost the whole time!

Now he was very much awake. And very much unhappy with his new nursemaids.

"Me?!" LeBeau shot back, appalled, "You have a little brother, non? What makes you think that I have any more experience than you do? I've never been around babies!" The small pot over the stove bubbled, and the soft oatmeal threatened to slosh over the sides when LeBeau gave it a vigorous stir. 

That's what babies ate, wasn't it? Soft things? 

Henri only had one tooth, and LeBeau was mostly sure that wasn't enough to eat real food with.

Not that he had any concrete evidence.

"Well, yeah, sure I do. But Danny had mom and dad to take care of him when he was this little. I had other things I was doing! I didn't want to hang around with a baby!"

Henri's unhappy wails picked up in volume-- something neither man had though was even possible!-- and Carter held him out at arm's reach in a desperate bid to spare what was left of his hearing. "I've made explosions that were quieter than him!"

"Oui, which is still more experience than I have!" LeBeau swept the pot off the heat and scooped a glob of the sticky oatmeal into a bowl. He'd never been so intimidated by feeding someone before! He was Louis LeBeau, a chef. A  _ French _ chef!

He could make Coq au vin with scraps from the officer's mess, and soufflé on their temperamental wood stove!

Andhe was currently reduced to slinging what amounted to paste at the demands of someone that still wore diapers.  _ How embarrassing! _

"Cor, blimey! Can't you keep it down in here? I can hear him all the way around the corner." Newkirk's arrival came with a gust of cold air from outside, and the scent of snow, "Last thing we need is Klink to catch wind of what's going on."

"Right now, Klink could take him." Carter tried to balance Henri on his hip like he'd seen parents do, but there was obviously some trick to it, because he just wriggled right off again.

"Carter!" 

The protest came in stereo, and with a muttered curse, Newkirk kicked the snow off his boots and plucked the screaming boy from Carter's arms. "Right then. No more of this." He said firmly to Henri, who blinked up at the new man with huge blue eyes. "Yeah, that's right. Your dinner's coming, mate, you've just got to wait for it."

LeBeau almost dropped the bowl he was trying to cool when he _ stopped crying. _ Just like that! His ears were still ringing, but the awful, choking, miserable sobs had vanished like magic! "Un miracle! How did you do that?"

"It's not so hard. Just have to talk to them, yeah? Specially when they're cranky."

"It can't be that easy! We  _ were _ talking!"

"Over him, yeah? Not to him. Kids know these things."

Carter dropped down on the end of his bed and stared for a moment, feeling a bit poleaxed by the events of the day, "How'd you know that, Newkirk? We were totally lost!"

"Well I've got a whole brood of brothers and sisters, don't I? And it wasn't like my old man was going to help. He was good at making kids, but not so much for taking care of them. And Mum needed all the help she could get."

While the oatmeal cooled, Newkirk paced absently around the room, muttering low, soothing things under his breath. "There you go, lad. No reason to keep carrying on." He hummed, and bounced the much calmer Henri on his hip in a way that made Carter vaguely envious.

Still snuffling, Henri rubbed his face into Newkirk's shoulder, the riot of dark cherub curls tucked beneath his chin. "Lovely, mate, ta. Wiping your grubby face on my uniform."

But he didn't try to move him, either.

"I always wanted kids of my own, sometime. After I got home and met the right girl, of course!" Carter paused a beat, turning the idea over in his head, "Now I'm not sure."

LeBeau added a bit of milk to the bowl and kept stirring, trying to guess how cool it needed to be. He might not have any specifics, but he was fairly sure burning would just cause more screaming. "I never thought about it. If it happened, it happened." He shrugged, and blew the steam from the bowl.

"Really? My mom'd never forgive me if I didn't give her grandkids!"

LeBeau shrugged again, in that one-shouldered Gallic sort of way that always made him look like he was dislodging something, "I don't know her, so she doesn't get to say, oui? And my father doesn't care about that. He'd be just as happy with none, or a dozen." 

He was mostly sure. In truth, they'd never really spoken about it.

"You don't have a mother? Gosh, LeBeau, I never--"

"Newkirk, did you manage to find Colette?" LeBeau interrupted, before one of them, but especially Carter, could offer awkward condolences. Yes, she was gone. Yes, people thought it was strange. No, he didn't want to talk about it.

They had much, much bigger problems on their hands.

"Not yet. The Colonel's going to talk to Klink. The little mite could be anywhere, and it's bloody well freezing out."

Three pairs of eyes turned towards the barracks door, half expecting it to suddenly burst open. It was one thing when they were risking their own lives, but Henri and Colette were just kids. They hadn't asked for this war, or for their parents to get involved with the underground.

"Bon... We can figure out the rest when we find her."

They hadn't wanted their parents taken by the Gestapo.

Or to be dragged to a prisoner of war camp, with a lot of men who were fumbling blindly.

Those were the same thoughts running through Hogan's mind as he made his way across the compound to the Kommandant's quarters. His chest felt heavy and tight, but he'd always prided himself on having a damn good poker face.

Squaring his shoulders against the cold, and their current situation-- and what sort of parents dragged their kids into a war? That's what he wanted to know! Sure, his own father had made it clear he was going to enlist when he'd finished school, but he'd been a teenager then. And he was pretty sure Colette was too small to even be in school! -- Hogan rapped briskly on the door and continued right through.

He'd tell Klink they'd seen the girl wandering on the other side of the fence, clearly lost.

And after that?

He'd just have to play it by ear.

What Hogan hadn't expected, not in a hundred-thousand years, was the smell of cocoa. Or the sight of his dark haired little runaway wrapped in a Luftwaffe blue sweater that was miles too long, snuggled up to said Kommandant on his couch!

Klink's expression pinched sharply when Hogan strolled in, the corners of his mouth tucked in so tightly they'd turned white. 

"Oops..." Colette cringed and shrank a little closer to Klink, "Sorry... Really sorry."

For a second, Hogan wasn't entirely sure he wasn't hallucinating. 

Part of him wanted to laugh, to give voice to the tangled knot of something related to relief that had clotted in his chest. And part of him wanted to yell, to kick something, to vent the steadily building frustration that had been building since Carter returned from his assignment.

He didn't have the luxury of either. And he didn't ask himself what his father would have done.

"Sir?" He finally asked, giving himself a sound mental shake, and offering the kommandant his best faux innocent smile, "I didn't realize you had company."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are more unannounced arrivals at Stalag 13.

Wilhelm Klink had always seen himself as a career officer. Over the years (and years, and years) he'd slowly climbed his way up the slippery ladder to his current rank-- a perfectly respectable Colonel. Of course, it was more respectable outside of wartime, when all the rest of his graduating class hadn't long since outstripped him.

Between his job, and the fact that he'd simply never managed to find the right woman, Klink hadn't spent much time around children.

Oh, there was Wolfgang's son, little Heinrich who fancied he was going to be the next Chancellor of Germany when he was grown; but Klink had always been the sort of uncle that sent birthday cards, rather than appearing in person.

Another side effect of the war, he'd supposed.

But contrary to public opinion, he didn't actually mind children. They were curious and inquisitive, and frequently said things that made their parents wince (he knew that feeling all too well, even now that he wasn't a child anymore!) 

And the little girl mostly asleep on the couch beside him was no exception. Even though she'd stubbornly refused to say anything beyond ' _ja_ ' when he'd asked if she wanted some cocoa-- she'd been half frozen when Schulz had brought her in, and it had been the only thing warm he could think of! And ' _danke_ ' when he'd handed it to her.

Clearly the child could speak. 

The fact that she refused to? Just made him all the more suspicious!

"If you have a brilliant idea, Hogan, I'd like to hear it." Klink pointed out flatly. It was late, and he was exhausted. Whoever heard of a child in a POW camp? It was absurd! General Burkhalter would have a fit if he found out! And he wasn't sure what Hogan had to do with it, or _how_ , but he was absolutely certain that he did.

He always did. Whenever something strange went on, Robert Hogan was invariably in the messy middle of it. And always managed to stroll away from the trouble without a scrape. 

"I'm afraid parenting isn't my strong suit, sir." Hogan's eyes dropped down to where Colette's head rested against the kommandant's arm, her eyes mostly closed. The busy day must have finally caught up to her, he considered-- and thank God for that, because it meant she wouldn't be sneaking out again!

Small mercies. It bought him a little time to figure out what the Hell they were going to do with her.

"And you say we can't send her back to her parents."

"No sir. Not at the moment."

"They're-"

"Indisposed."

Klink grit his teeth, but he nodded, "Ah." He paused a beat, trying to assimilate the world of unwanted complication in that single word! Indisposed. "There's a war on, Colonel Hogan. Everyone is indisposed at the moment. You're going to have to do better than that." He was just about to straighten his back, to seem more imposing, when Colette mumbled a protest in her half sleep and he had to grab her cup before it toppled into her lap.

Despite himself, Hogan's mouth quirked up, "I don't suppose you'll believe that we found her in the cabbage patch?"

"What? No- nevermind- don't answer that, I don't want to know. We should hand her over to the proper authorities, they know what to do with children." Even as the words left his mouth, Klink felt his stomach sinking at the idea. She'd be sent to one of the state orphanages; which were already overcrowded and stretched too thin. 

And her parents -- whoever they were, (maybe he wasn't going to ask. Sometimes it was better just not to know) -- would never see her again.

The armchair creaked when Hogan dropped down into it, blurring the lines of formality between them. It happened sometimes, usually in the middle of the night; a strange gentleman's code of honor between them. 

After all, there was nobody else in the camp to match their rank, and there were things you simply didn't talk to your subordinates about.

"Not a great solution, sir."

"Well we can't keep her here! This is a German prisoner of war camp, not a _Kindertagesstätte!_ "

"We could always child proof your quarters. I'm sure Shultz wouldn't mind babys--"

Hogan's broad attempt at levity was cut off sharply when the front door slammed open, the handle ricocheting off the wall. "KLINK!" Hochstetter's voice was louder than the bang, the single barked syllable dragged into two, and transformed into a scathing indictment.

"Major Hochstetter, what a pleasure to--"

"I don't want to hear your platitudes and excuses! I am here because two children have gone _missing,_ Klink, and I think you have something to do with it!"

"Major, I assure you--"

"NO! If you have nothing to do with these missing children, then _what is that girl doing here?!"_

Hogan resisted the urge to bolt to his feet, but it wouldn't do any good to appear suspicious. From the armchair, he could see the colour mottling the major's face, darkening with every yelled word. "Sir-"

"WHAT IS THIS MAN DOING HERE?!"

"Stop yelling!" Colette interjected with a childish huff, "It's not nice to yell at people. If you want to talk, you should use your inside voice!"

For half a second, Klink and Hogan waited for the throbbing vein on the side of Hochstetter's neck to burst. 

To the end of his days, Klink wasn't sure what compelled him to stand up, or where his next words came from. He found them somewhere between Hochstetter's vitriol and the trusting way the little girl was holding onto the sleeve of his dressing gown, as though she was convinced he could save her from whatever the Gestapo wanted.

"She's mine, Major. And on her way to bed."

" _Yours?!_ "

Hogan bit his tongue to stave off his own exclamation, and let Hochstetter speak for the both of them (an uncomfortable thought! Better to say that he didn't think anyone could hear him over the very loud Gestapo officer. It certainly had a ring of truth about it.)

"Yes. Mine. My... Sister's." 

"Right- right!" Hogan nodded quickly, "And I was here to protest the fact that children don't belong in a prisoner of war camp, it's against the Geneva Convention-- but since she's not staying, the Kommandant managed to talk me around."

"Did he now... I didn't know you had a sister, Klink." Hochstetter sounded wary and unconvinced, but not entirely sure how to prove they were lying. 

"Oh yes, Major! She's-"

"Much younger!" Hogan supplied, and this time it was Klink's turn to bob his head, "I'm surprised you've never met her! Johanna Klink, she's supposed to be a great beauty!"

Klink could almost feel the presence of the Gestapo firing squad, but what could he do? He'd committed to whatever this madness was. "Ja- I mean, no! Hogan, that's my sister, you go too far!" 

"I do not believe you..." Hochstetter ground out from between clenched teeth, but to both men's surprise, he didn't order his men into the room. "I will be back! And when I discover that you've lied to me, Klink? _Heads will roll!_ "

With a swish of his black overcoat, Hochstetter stormed out of the room, his two aids trailing behind him with mirrored looks of confusion. The silence that followed in the wake of the door slamming-- again, but closed this time-- had a tangible weight of its own.

"Uncle Klink." Hogan's snort of laughter sounded incredulous, and felt a bit hysteric, and he shook his head, "I guess that means we're not sending them to the authorities."

"No. This time, Colonel Hogan, I think--" Klink blinked once, twice, and his gaze panned from Colette to Hogan, his suspicion positively curdling. 

"... _They?_ "


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is some thinking outside the box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end! I just wanted to say a quick thanks to everyone that's sent such wonderful comments, it's been so encouraging! ❤
> 
> This chapter fills the 'Prisoners with Info' square.

To:   
Karl Haeusser   
Luftwaffe  Stammlager Requisitions Dept.   
Berlin

Regarding the supplies for Luft Stalag XIII.

In addition to the necessities listed on the previous page (requisition form 34C), I am requesting copies of books on the subject of children and parenting. Attached is a list of preferred titles.

Kommandant W. Klink 

═════════════════════

To:   
Kommandant W. Klink   
Luftwaffe Stalag XIII   
Hammelburg

Request denied. 

We're in the middle of a war, Klink. If you want books you're going to have to find them for yourself. Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time than source reading material for you?

Hauesser, Luftwaffe Supply

═════════════════════

To:   
International Committee of the Red Cross   
Washington, USA

Requesting English language books.

If possible, please include books on parenting in the next care package.

Col. R Hogan

═════════════════════

To:   
Col. R Hogan   
Luftwaffe Stalag XIII   
Hammelburg

Will attempt, but expect significant delay. 

Sorry, fellows. Getting books across the lines is damn near impossible. Even if we send them, I can't promise they'll be much good by the time the German censors get their hands on them.    
  
Jack Lund,    
ICRC

═════════════════════

Hogan read the letter for the third time, but it wasn't any more helpful than the first two times he'd gone over it. He'd known it was a long shot when he'd sent the request, but that didn't make the whole situation any less frustrating. 

It had been more than a week, and sure the kids seemed happy and healthy-- Colette had even proved remarkably bright and good at hiding when Hochstetter had returned for an impromptu search! 

But what did he know about kids? Did he even know what to look for?

"You've got a face like a dark cloud, sir. Bad news?" Carter tucked one booted foot against his bunk frame and looked up at Hogan, just like he'd done a thousand times before. But those previous thousand hadn't included the very small pair of mittens he was trying to mend the holes in.

"Nothing I didn't expect. We need real information, and it's damned hard to find." Hogan held up the letter with a snap of printed paper, before tossing it into their woodstove. 

It was more use there, anyway.

"Oh yeah... You know, sir, I keep thinking that I wish I could ask my parents for advice. They'd know what to do. But you know, they always said it takes the whole town to raise kids, and we've got most of a town here, if you look at it sort of squinty like."

What an idea...

"Carter, do you think you could write a letter to your parents asking for help? Without giving away why you need it?"

Carter turned the tiny mittens inside out to examine his handiwork, prodding the seams to make sure they wouldn't unravel. "Well sure! And I bet the other guys would too, if you asked them. See, Colonel? It's not so bad. Just because the big brass can't give us any help, doesn't mean we can't help ourselves! What'd'you think about these? Will they keep her warm enough?"

Hogan picked up one of the offered mittens and rubbed it between finger and thumb. It wasn't much, but it was something. 

Maybe a start.

"It's good work, Andrew... Really good work."

Somehow, Carter wasn't sure he was talking about his sewing.

═════════════════════

To:   
Antoine LeBeau   
76 Faubourg Saint Honoré   
Paris

Bonjour père,

By the time this reaches you I'm sure Paris will be beautiful, and Germany will still be cold. I think I've missed you more in the last month than I have since I left home. 

Do you still remember the stories you used to tell me before bed? The ones where you painted all the characters? I've been trying to remember them, but it feels like such a long time ago. 

Anything you can remember, I want to hear it!

Love, 

Louis

═════════════════════

To:   
Alice Newkirk   
136 Wenlock Terrace   
London

Hello mum!

I know it's been ages since I've written, but when I think of brilliant mums, you're the first person that comes to mind.

How did you keep the lot of us in one piece? 

Asking for a friend, of course! 

I'm starting to think all kids want to give their parents grey hair (sorry for that, by the way! I'm sure I gave you a few myself!)

Has Mavis had the new baby yet? Tell the others I say hello, too! 

I know I don't say it enough, but I miss you.

Jr

═════════════════════

To:   
John and Helen Carter   
38 Old Chapel Rd.   
Bullfrog, Nebraska

Dear mom and dad, everything here is doing just fine!

Miss you lots, but I met some great people here, and you don't have to worry! 

You were always the best parents, and I was wondering, how'd you do it? 

Newkirk says I should mention that I'm asking for a friend, and I am! There's definitely no kids in the camp. That'd be crazy, wouldn't it?

Anyway, I should end this letter because they're going to come round in a minute to collect them all, and I don't want to miss the post. 

Miss you and love you!

Andy

═════════════════════

To:   
Gretchen Schultz   
Leipziger Straße 70   
Heidelberg

Darling!

I'll be home on leave next week, can you believe it? It feels like I've been here forever, instead of just a few months. Every time I come home the children are so much bigger, and I can't wait to see them.

Do you still have their old things packed away in the attic? I know a family that could use them, especially the clothes they've outgrown.

I'll see you in a few days, and tell the children how I miss them.

All my love, 

Hans

═════════════════════

From his office window, the Kommandant could see the prisoners attempting some sort of game with a half deflated ball. It wasn't soccer, and it certainly wasn't volleyball, but Colette was rushing around between them with pink cheeks and the sort of beaming smile that said she was making up the rules as she went along.

Henri was fast asleep in the corner of his office in the makeshift cot they'd set up for him-- and which could be collapsed and hidden under his desk in the event of a random inspection! He snuffled occasionally, sucking on his fingers in his sleep in babyish contentment.

So different from the teething, unhappy monster that had kept Klink up until the small hours of the morning!

It had all felt strangely domestic at first; but nearly a month in, Klink found it harder to imagine going back to the former status quo.

The camp would simply feel too quiet without Colette's constant questions, or Henri's sleepy warmth in his lap while he saw to his endless paperwork. And he was sure the prisoners felt the same way, if the sight from his window was any indication.

It was forbidden, of course. All of it. 

But Germany was full of war orphans, and who, really, was it hurting? The children were safe and fed... And every time he passed by the orphanage in Hammelburg, he found his resolve strengthened. 

A POW camp might be no place for children, but neither was that.

And yes, their requests for books had been denied-- he hadn't even been surprised about that!-- but somehow they'd managed to keep things running smoothly. More or less. 

Well, as smoothly as things ever ran.

"Colonel? Your call to Düsseldorf is connecting." 

With a glance back to Henri, still fast asleep, Klink picked up the receiver with a pleased hum. No, they didn't have books; but they had parents. 

"Hallo, mama? It's Wilhelm... Yes, I'm fine. I had some questions for you..."


End file.
